


My Own

by autumnmycat



Category: Serial Experiments Lain
Genre: Canon - Video Game, Coming of Age, Existentialism, F/F, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28916106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnmycat/pseuds/autumnmycat
Summary: Who is Lain? Does Lain have any enemies? Does Lain have any lovers?Why don't you ask her yourself?
Relationships: Iwakura Lain/Iwakura Lain, Iwakura Lain/Mizuki Alice
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	My Own

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually a really old fic from 2018 that i wrote when i first got into lain and played the psone game, it was just like 85% done and i never put the final touches on it, but there's enough good stuff here i might as well post it. also i made a fucking work skin for this bc the chat parts were in the "apple color emoji" font which im pretty sure no browser supports so....courier will have to do
> 
> And, always remember to love Lain.

** Present day. Present time. **

Someone on The Wired asks Lain if she has any enemies.

“Enemies? What do you mean?”

Voices clatter and echo, go into her right ear and out the left. Only certain ones are distinguishable through the static.

>>ENEMIES ARE PEOPLE WHO HATE YOU.

>>ENEMIES WANT TO SEE YOU SUFFER.

>>ENEMIES WANT YOU TO DIE.

Does anyone hate Lain? Considering she still isn’t quite sure what exactly an ‘enemy’ entails, she decides to do some investigating.

Searching . . . Searching . . .

Lain feels a sharp and explosive pain blow against her cheek. It sends her stumbling back until she finds herself meeting some sort of wall. Or, maybe a border would be a more appropriate descriptor. She breaths in sharply and cradles her cheek. When the pain dulls into a throbbing twinge, she opens her eyes.

The room is black. There are only two objects in it. Lain and The Other Lain.

The Other Lain looks exactly like Lain except she is wearing a tasteful brown business suit and a difficult to decipher expression. She wants to describe her as angry, but The Other Lain does not look angry so much as she looks disgusted, like the room smells like burnt popcorn and it’s going to ruin the whole movie.

“Who are you?” Lain asks.

The Other Lain does not answer at first. A tiny smile pops on her face, and her lips curl until it becomes wicked.

“Oh, you don’t remember me?”

Remember her? Does she mean remember herself? Lain is very confused. She knows there are other Lains that live in The Wired, but she couldn’t be expected to remember every single one, especially one she has never met.

“I don’t.”

The Other Lain holds out her arms beside her, seemingly gesturing at her presence.

“I’m one of the souls you stole. Does that make it easier?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not at all.”

She barks back, “ _Damn you, you fucking murderer!!_ ”

Her voice scares her, shocks her, pains her. Lain does not remember killing anyone. She doesn’t remember participating in violence possibly ever.

“There’s no use trying to remember. You probably didn’t even know about it.”

She gets a sudden vision of an explosion, the zap of electrical discharge, a puff of chemicals that have the familiar smell of a broken CRT monitor. She gasps when The Other Lain’s face disfigures in front of her. Charred. Distorted. Bloodied. She can’t even scream because the smell of burnt flesh makes her ill. She covers her mouth to keep from vomiting.

Then, The Other Lain looks like her again.

“It doesn’t feel very good, does it?”

Lain feels like her head is spinning.

Every time she moves, her entire body screws up, starting from the top of her head and ending at her toes. It isn’t a twitch, it isn’t a tremor, it isn’t nausea. It is—

"Do you really care to put a label on every single feeling you experience?"

Her own eyes stare back at her, but they are judgmental. They are mean. They make Lain's stomach flip on itself, make her legs feel weak. She wonders how she's keeping herself upright.

She shouldn't have to talk back to herself, but she does anyway.

"I—I feel like I do."

The Other Lain sneers. "Why? What does it matter? Who cares?"

"I...do."

This answer is obviously inadequate because The Other Lain marches forward, marches forward, marches forward—and then Lain's back is shoved against the wall. This in itself wouldn't have been a problem, but The Other Lain gets too close, hands on either side of her head, face so close that she can feel her breath on her neck. She is pinning her in place.

"Lain of The Real needs to know what she's feeling, huh?"

Lain isn’t sure how to answer that, especially considering she has the feeling it's a rhetorical question, but her loose mouth lets words out carelessly.

"Yes. I do."

The Other Lain looks amused. Her lips pull into a smirk that is far more sinister than it needs to be.

"Hm. Alright."

It all happens very fast.

Lain is grabbed by the shoulders and slammed into the wall. It is much harder than the last time, and it hurts a lot more than the last time. She opens her mouth to gasp, but she can’t get any oxygen back in because a knee slams into her stomach. Before she has the chance to gather her bearings, her legs give out and she smacks her head on the nonexistent floor.

White blistering pain. Black gaping darkness.

"How was that? How did that feel? How would you describe the sensation?"

Lain has never felt pain like this before. In a way, it doesn’t feel real. Is it happening to her or someone else?

(Is she herself or someone else?)

"Get up," The Other Lain demands.

Following the order is impossible considering Lain is fighting to stay conscious and can not relegate that much energy to anything else.

“I had to listen to you describe how you felt every month for three years. I never want to hear you speak ever again.”

Lain does not understand what this means. She blinks, once, twice, three times. Her eyes finally adjust, and she is able to see that The Other Lain is looming over her. Now, she is clearly angry.

(Lain sees memories in her eyes, but they are memories that she doesn’t remember. Or, maybe they were never hers to begin with.)

“What did I do to you…?”

//How many lives have I lived?//

Fingers weave through her hair and grip hard. They pull her head up off the ground and The Other Lain is crouched in front of her.

“You murdered me,” she says, “and now I get to return the favor.”

* * *

Someone on The Wired asks Lain if she has any lovers.

“Lovers? People who I love?”

There are snickers and murmurs, a low and rattling laugh. The sounds feel like pity, and they bounce off of her and back into the sea of data.

>>HEHEHE...

>>IT’S BECAUSE SHE’S A CHILD.

>>NO. SHE’S BEING DELIBERATELY OBTUSE.

“I’m not a child.”

The gallery must find this hilarious because this time, the inside of Lain’s head erupts with laughter.

>>THE PERVERT IS ASKING IF YOU’RE A VIRGIN.

>>HAS LAIN EVER HAD SEX?

>>DO YOU GO FOR BOYS? OR MAYBE GIRLS! HAHA I’D PAY GOOD MONEY TO SEE THAT!

Lain cannot hear any of the voices anymore because there is so much static and interference in their signals. She has to cover her ears because the hiss hurts her head. Waiting for them to quiet down isn’t working.

“Won’t you all just shut up?!”

She must have been too forceful with her command because the next thing she sees is an error message.

CONNECTION LOST —— RECONNECT? (5)

The counter ticks down (4, 3, 2, 1), but Lain is lost in thought (CONNECTION TERMINATED).

When she asks herself if she has any lovers, her first instinct is the emotion of love. She holds it for many people. Her family/families. The Wired. Her friend/friends.

But, to be a lover means something different. It means physical contact. This concept of “ _sex._ ” Of course, she is aware of what it is (so much of The Wired is specifically relegated for depictions of such things), but she doesn’t really get it.

When she searches the first time, the feeling of “love” overpowers her and a few names pop up almost immediately.

Misato—no, Alice—no. Some other names—names of girls she has no memory of. Who are these people? She must have love for them on some level, but whatever love she did possess had been lost to time, the memories scattered in the wind.

Lain tries to think really hard about intimacy and not the emotional kind, but her findings are sparse, to say the least.

The only result is Lda146:#warmth #touch #father

The record is indistinct, fragmented in places, but the sensations are still accessible. It feels warm. It feels invigorating. It feels new. It feels good. She loses herself in it for a second, the original intent of this investigation falling away from her and melting into the background as warm feelings bubble up from somewhere deep inside her.

And then, it suddenly stops, and she is thrown back into the recesses of The Wired. Instead of feeling good, she feels hollowed out. Empty. If there is something causing her to feel that way, Lain cannot recover that file—recover that memory.

She’s left perplexed by the idea that ‘enemy’ has happened to her but ‘lover’ has not. Does that mean that more people hate Lain than love her?

“Oh, please. You know that’s not what it means.”

Lain of The Wired looks bored, looks like she’s hit her threshold of dealing with nonsense.

“Then, what does it mean?”

Her mirror image—this one different from the last—shrugs, pretending to play dumb.

“I don’t know, maybe you’ve just never got yourself a girlfriend before or anything.”

“Girlfriend?”

Lain of The Wired makes a face. “Or, a boyfriend, I guess.”

Lain cocks her head, unsure of the significance of this conversation.

“If you don’t understand, maybe I can show you.”

She steps forward, and then, she is all hands.

The thin fabric of her white slip feels strange when her chest is touched. She has never thought about how the light material could feel nice against her skin, about how silk feels cool under fingertips, but Lain of the Wired must have because her touch has Lain accidentally letting out a heavy breath she didn’t know she had taken in.

“Aw, you’re sensitive, aren’t you?”

Lain has figured out that Lain of The Wired is getting a rise out of the situation, especially because she is getting increasingly uncomfortable as she becomes more daring. She knows where this leads, and she doesn’t want to go there. But, Lain of the Wired very much does. A small pinprick of fear resonates in her stomach.

“Stop it,” she mutters through a tense jaw.

“But, doesn’t Little Lain want to know how it feels to have a lover? Don’t you want to feel what it’s like to be a woman?”

“Not like this.” Her words come out as a whisper. She sounds much more scared than she is willing to admit to herself, and it is all that more unpleasant because it’s “herself” making her feel this way. She forces the other girl’s hands away and crosses her arms over her chest, embarrassed by how she’s begun to poke out from behind the thin fabric. Her own body and her own automatic responses disgust and unnerve her. “You are the part of me that I hate. I don’t want you to do these things.”

Lain of The Wired grabs her chin, forcing her face upward, and she brushes her thumb against Lain’s lips as hers curl into a disconcerting smile.

“I think it’s cute you say that as if you have a choice in the matter.”

One second, they are staring at each other, caught in the silence of each other’s breath. The next second, their lips are smashed together.

Lain is forced into shock. She doesn’t know what to do. Lain of The Wired’s lips are hungry and demanding, and for some reason, she’s so much stronger than Lain is. Is it psychological? Or, is being so close to another version of herself making her mind unravel like she is tugging on a loose thread?

She’s shocked out of her musings when Lain of The Wired bites her bottom lip much too hard, and Lain gasps, which turns out to be a mistake because as soon as her mouth opens, a tongue is being forced inside it.

Lain can’t help but let out a noise of surprise. She tries to pull away, but there’s a hand on her waist and at the back of her head, tangled in her hair. She’s pulled closer to herself, bodies pressed together and intertwined.

(A part of her wants to give up, wants to let the sensations take her—it would be easier than a continued fight. But, she can’t let this happen…she can’t…)

The feeling of a tongue sliding against hers, of the softness and warmth of it all—it’s almost intoxicating. Lain hears an embarrassing sound come from somewhere, and it isn’t until Lain of the Wired is giggling into her mouth that she realizes that it’s come from her.

Finally, she pulls away, and Lain watches helplessly as a string of saliva pulls and breaks between them. She’s panting to catch her breath, and her entire body feels much too hot, and her heart is pounding in her ears.

It’s disgusting.

“Do you really believe that?” Lain of The Wired looks incredibly smug. If Lain hadn’t been swimming in her own shame, she might have been annoyed, but she just looks down at her feet and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair _._ She doesn’t feel in control of herself. Her body just— _responds_ —and it’s not that she wants it, it’s just that—

“It’s just that what, Lain?”

She clenches her eyes shut, buries her face in her hands. It’s not fair. It’s not _fair._

“Of course it’s not fair,” The Other Lain whispers, closing the distance between them. She leans down so that her lips are positioned right next to Lain’s ear. “You should know by now that life and the act of living aren’t fair.”

Lain makes the mistake of looking up.

The Other Lain grabs her wrists and pulls them away from her. Lain tries to fight back, to push her away, but The Other Lain just pushes back harder, and they’re thrown off balance, toppling to the ground in a heap.

For a second there’s nothing, no sound, no sensation, just nothing. But, then Lain of the Wired decides to gobble her up and swallow her whole.

It's strange, in a way. Even though she's pinned down on the ground and hands and lips travel along her body, Lain feels herself being unable to resist.

(It feels good. Really good. She feels like she wants the Other Lain to do more, to make her feel more.)

She makes a small sound and gers a snicker in response.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Lain doesn't want to admit it, but as her dress is pushed up and nails and teeth begin to rake at her inner thighs, she can’t help the strange voices that come from her.

“I’m scared.”

“But, it’ll feel so good. It’ll feel better than anything else. I promise.”

“No…” she whines.

“Or, would you rather Alice be in my place?”

“I don’t know who Alice is.”

“But, you will. Maybe she’ll seem familiar to you.”

Lain of The Wired is gone. Now, she stares up at this girl’s face, a girl she doesn’t know. Her eyes are unfocused, trying to find some sense of comfort in anything that’s happening.

“Lain? Are you alright, Lain?”

Her voice is sweet, caring, and honestly worried. It’s in stark disconnect with the hand shoved down her underwear. Lain wants to believe she cares. She wants to give into the idea that she cares.

“A—lice…” The name slips out between labored breaths.

“I’m sorry, Lain. I’m sorry I made you come here,” she says desperately, her expression contorted in grief.

“You didn’t—make me—come here—“

“I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head. A few tears patter against the silk pushed up around Lain’s chest.

“Alice. Please don’t cry.” She feels her own eyes sting. “Don’t cry. It’s not your fault. Alice…”

* * *

Lain was interested in sex in the same way that any middle schooler was—a morbid fascination laden with fear and confusion. She’d heard of it from boys and seen lewd photos accidentally on The Wired, but it didn’t make her feel good to see naked women looking like they were in pain. Did people really like looking at this kind of thing?

She’d danced around in a circle, perfectly side-stepping her shame and her desire. She did not want that sort of thing. Lain was not like other people.

Until she was.

Her parents had never given her any sort of talk, and she wasn’t about to get answers through her friends or The Wired, so she just let herself live in a constant state of questioning. She put a hand mirror between her legs and saw what that place looked like. She also found that certain places felt nice when touched, but the whole thing kind of scared her, so she stopped before anyone could barge into her room and catch her perverted curiosity.

The whole ordeal made her feel all mixed up. She wanted, but she hated, but she longed, but she feared. Lain wanted something, but she didn’t know what it was. It left her feeling empty.

But, there was this girl named Kade, and Lain overheard her talking with some classmates one day. She was talking about how she used to kiss other girls when she still lived in America.

“It was easy because we had sleepovers where no boys were allowed, and our parents didn’t think we’d kiss each other.”

Kade either didn’t know that it was wrong to admit such a thing, or she didn’t care. The other girls acted shocked, but Lain just sat there in her seat and thought about how nice it would be for another girl to place her lips on hers. Kade would be fine. She had long black hair that she always wore in a braid, and her eyes were green and big, much bigger than anyone else in the class, besides maybe Lain herself. She wouldn’t mind her hands tracing over her back and shoulders and her tongue pushing into her mouth—

Lain shook her head. She was disgusting for thinking about such a thing.

* * *

_“I am my own worst enemy. I am my own failed lover.”_

* * *

RECONNECTING...RECONNECTING...

>>DAMN YOU BROUGHT DOWN THE WHOLE SERVER.

>>WE NEVER GOT OUR ANSWER :(

>>SHE’S A KID YOU FUCKIN’ PEDO.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

>>FINE.

>>OK OK, I’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO BE IN THE WIRED LIKE YOU ARE.

“It doesn’t feel like anything.”

It’s true. It just feels like her being in any other place. She could be here or there or everywhere. The Wired and The Real are the same, except one is physical and the other is not. But, her thoughts float more freely here and change things more easily.

>>BOO. THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER.

>>YOU CAN’T EXPECT US TO BELIEVE THAT.

“It’s true.”

>>BORING!!!

She feels a pulling around her. It’s familiar. She knows what this means. The Real is calling her. It’s ready to bring her back. Bring her home.

“I don’t have much time left. Is there anything else you want to ask?”

>>ONE MORE THING?

>>HOW CAN WE PICK JUST ONE?

>>i have one

“What is it?”

>>who is lain?

That question is easier than the others.

“Lain is Lain. And, I am me.”

Colors swirl around her and distort into a kaleidoscope of synapses and electricity.

* * *

** Present day. Present time. **

She wakes up to another unfamiliar ceiling, not that she remembers any others.


End file.
